A True Dragon
by Lord of Fleas
Summary: When a simple man is killed, he awakes in the world of Westeros...oh well, can't be that hard to survive when your one of the most dangerous animals on the planet. "Valyrias...for the Empire that was lost."


**Not sure what brought this up, I just wanted a Daenerys who had four dragons, the fourth being her ultimate dragon and a nobody from earth.**

"What the fuck are you wearing?" Dylan laughed as he looked at his friend, who was currently in a silver, spray painted, doofy dragon suit.

"Okay, hah hah, get your laughs in, alright, I admit it, my costume sucks. I forgot how close the date was and I didn't have time to make an actual suit." His friend just continued laughing, oh he was so fucking getting it when they went online again.

"At least I somewhat _look_ like my character. Hahah!" As he laughed, Vergil agreed. He was in a Qrow costume, his hair was jelled back and dyed grey and his clothes almost matched, though he was missing the weapon and the tattered cape, replaced with a simple red scarf.

"A*sniff* atleast tell me the actual costume was cool!" He nods and shows him a picture of the mask he had in his garage, his friend 'awwing' at the sight.

"That looks _sick_ man! You have gotta finish that for next time!" Vergil nods with a grin on his face as he pulls the head on.

"Ready?" He moved to the passenger seat of the car and looked to Dylan, who nods and is about to get in the car when he looks behind him and his eyes widen.

"DUDE LOOK OUT!" Vergil has just enough time to turn to see a car coming straight for him and suddenly he's weightless and smashing into the ground.

"VERGIL!" Shit, that was bad, Dylan never used his full name unless he was actually worried, which almost always was warranted whenever he did.

"Shit, Vergil! Stay with me man I…oh god I…mm…" He could hear a retching sound and a chill went up his spine, an even worse chill crept up when he noticed how dark it was.

"D-Dyl…" He heard movement and hands were on him, they felt so warm.

"Verg! Hey man. Hey, it's gonna be alright. SOMEONE HELP! Come on man stay with me!" He tried to move but found that he couldn't, and suddenly, that warmth was fading.

"Dyl…" He felt his hand get squeezed, only for that too to fade.

"Verg! Verg don't die on me man! Don't! Come on man! Don't! Don't ple _ase man no-._ " His voice faded, as did the warmth, the only sound was his heartbeat…slowing…dying…

 _And of all things to die in, a crappy dragon suit…at least it had a cool name…_

 _Valyrias_

"This morning, resident artist and comic fanatic Vergil Sanding was run over by a delivery truck and was confirmed dead at 9:35 pm by authorities. The driver of the truck, a Matthew Willingham, has confessed that he was intoxicated and is currently being charged with vehicular manslaughter. Residence say Vergil will be missed. In other news the Royal Wedding has-."

The first thing he felt was a warmth, not a comforting warmth or a searing heat kind of warmth. It was just…warm. Like in a rainforest. He felt something, something all around him, and had a sudden urge to break it. He tore at it and suddenly the darkness he was in was illuminated by dancing orange light, it flickered and whirled all around him in its dance. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

He struggled to escape once more, using his arms and legs and _things_ to crack the shell apart. All of a sudden, a thundering crack echoed and his walls exploded, leaving him in that beautiful dance. He looked around, and his joy and awe turned to horror and sorrow.

It was a fire, and great and massive fire that burned and destroyed and he _was falling!_ He fell through the floor he was on, his once floor now roof turning to ash as the fire burned. He screamed, and was shocked by the high-pitch screech that came out. He clamped his mouth closed and let out another screech at the claws that wrapped around his snouth.

 _Wait? Snout?_ His eyes widened when, as he tried moving his hands, the clawed scaled hands mimicked his movement entirely…like they were his own.

 _No_ he moved his mouth, watching as the snout opened and closed and how _weird_ it was.

 _No!_ he twirled his head around to look at his body, his now elongated neck easily bending.

 _NO!_ Of all the fucking things to become! Of all the damn things!

 _No fucking way!_ He was so fucking happy.

All of a sudden, the roof collapsed, and his vision went black, three words playing in his head before he's knocked out:

 _No fucking way!_ He was no longer happy.

 _*warble*_ Jorah looked to one of the cages and a grimace formed on his face. The little bastard was waking up now.

Said 'little bastard' was a dragon unlike anything he had ever seen or heard of. Daenerys other dragons, Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion, all had four limbs, like most animals. But this one…

"A True Dragon." Had been the words of Jhiqui, and still Jorah knew not what they meant. What the bloody Seven hells was a 'True' Dragon? He had asked as much and all he got was "The rulers of the world."

He wasn't sure what that meant but he pushed it aside as the little worm woke up. First thing he had noticed about it was its appearance. Like the others it had a small sail going down its back, the webbing a deep blue and its scales a greyish platinum. It was the physical traits that went a bit wonky.

Where dragons had always had small horns, this one had the makings of curving horns, if the little tiwgs on his head were anything to go by. It was also that he was much _bigger_ than the others, he almost filled the cage with his size and even then if he spread his wings he would easily be bigger than the wicker cell. And that was something else he noticed, he had six limbs. Forelegs, like an animal meant for walking. The claws were long even for a hatchling, and as its eyes opened Jorah took note of the last abnormality with the little dragon.

Its violet eyes.

Drogon had red, Rhaegal had bronze, and Viserion had gold. But, as if wanting to be even more special, the dragon's eyes were not like the rest of its body. They were a deep violet…like a Targaryen.

 _Morning little bugger_ the dragon seemed to awaken lazily, no surprise considering the massive plank of wood on top of it when they had found him, but what caught him off guard was when the dragon suddenly widened its eyes and began to…flail?

Yeah, that's what he would call it, flailing. But why? He was sure that it would just start growling at him or something, but no. It did what-!

 _What a man would do if they saw something big and dangerous_ that being flailing at it in panic. He was curious now, he pulled out his dagger and pointed it at him, and the dragon stilled. _Just like a man at knifepoint…huh._ He put the blade away, and was in awe at how the dragon seemed to deflate and revert to that mild panic.

…perhaps Jhiqui's words weren't wrong. Maybe they _did_ rule… _hah!_ He quietly chuckled to himself as he headed towards the front where hi-the! _khaleesi_ was. He was about to head out in search of water and wanted to inform her.

For the oddest reason, he thought someone had said "Fuck!" behind him.

Next chapter

 _Peach!_ He closed his jaws around it and munched, ignoring the growl from Jorah and the giggle from Dany. Fucking thing was sweet as hell, and when he finally noticed Jorah glaring at him, he merely blew him a raspberry and went back to munching, his mother continuing to eat her portion and giggling.

"Getting bigger every day." She stroked his neck and he let out a coo, something he was doing often now. He was really enjoying himself…and then Qarth came to his head…well fuck.

 **Love it? Hate it? Something? Well I want to continue this so I will. Hope you enjoyed!**

 **And for my personal entertainment!**

 **"The little boy who gets slain first gets the big bottle of seven up!"**


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